That's Not An Answer
by aurea-sidera
Summary: In which Tony Stark comes home to discover an unexpected visitor in the form of Natasha Romanoff in his living room. Takes place right after CA:TWS, a friendship piece about Tony and Nat.
1. i Post Disaster Omlettes

**A/N: Like others, I was broken after Endgame, and now I must turn to fanfiction that involves both Tony and Nat. This is one that I wrote a long time ago that I pulled out of the ol' Google Drive and decided to post. I've always loved Tony and Natasha's interactions with each other-I think that they're similar in a lot of ways that people forget, and they have a complicated history. As always, not mine. ****_If it were then _****_Tony and Nat would be happy and alive and _**

**This takes place immediately after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier- somehow Natasha has made it to New York to see an old friend. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Romanoff?"

She looks up. She's exhausted, so exhausted that she could just fall asleep right there and then. Her shoulder and left arm are non-functional and her hip is screaming from the bombing in New Jersey. She wants to _sleep, _really sleep, and also watch bad movies and eat crappy food. She wants Clint, desperately, but she, a) doesn't know that he's not Hydra, and b) can't risk going to the farmhouse in case she gets followed. It's also very far, and she can't… can't do that right now.

"Hi," she says, and she forces herself into a standing position, hiding (badly, she's nowhere near her usual standard) her pain like always. "I'm… I'm sorry… I had nowhere to go… I'll be gone in a few days, I just need somewhere safe… for now… your email said we could drop in anytime…"

"You look like shit, Natasha," Tony Stark says, and reaches forward, grips her shoulders. "I saw… what happened. When was the last time you slept?"

She shakes her head.

"That's not an answer." Tony looks around. He's supporting her, physically and emotionally in this moment. He almost laughs out loud at the irony. He'd never had expected this. "You injured?"

Natasha shakes her head again. "Fury… he had a medic… I'm okay. I just…"

Tony winces—no matter how engrossed he is in his work, he noticed when the headline _Director of SHIELD Nick Fury Shot to Death—_ and nods carefully at his companion. She's fragile, like a scared cat. Damaged. She'll run if he makes any sudden movements, and if she does, she won't make it out alive. "I'm sorry about Fury," he admits—because he is, far more than he'd care to admit— and her head whips up.

"What?"

He waves a hand lamely at the room. "Fury… I heard he died…"

Realization dawns on her face. "Oh," she says, a little too quickly. "Yeah. Me too."

Something tells him that she's lying, but he doesn't pry. If she's obvious enough that he can tell, she's seriously off her game. "The Tower has the best security in the world," he promises. "The guest rooms are all entirely secure. It's safe. JARVIS runs the system, he has eyes in the sky and on the ground. Sleep, Romanoff. You can reacquaint yourself with the living tomorrow."

She nods, but he thinks that she only heard half of what he said. She reaches down to her feet to pick up a large black backpack, which she hoists over her shoulders. "Sleep," she repeats.

After she leaves, Tony looks around at the living room. There's a little bit of blood on the sofa where she was sitting. It's a shame, he thinks, that the Avengers' floors aren't ready yet—he could have gotten her input.

"JARVIS," Tony calls quietly. "Why didn't you tell me that she was here?"

"You didn't ask," comes the reply, "and Ms. Romanoff has had clearance since you began the Avengers' floor plans."

"Yeah, but…" Tony runs a hand through his hair. He hasn't slept in a while, either, but he's not dead on his feet like Natasha is. "Just pull up everything that has to do with Agent Romanoff, the Black Widow, Captain America, and SHIELD in the last few days.

A screen set into the wall (more like the screen that _makes up _the wall) flickers on and dozens of reports crowd the screen. Hundreds. Thousands, even.

"Sort by relevance."

JARVIS obeys and the onscreen entities all shuffle around. Finally, a single news report hits the top of the screen.

Tony points to it. "Open."

The headline reads, _Everything We Know About the Fall Of SHIELD—So Far. _

It outlines Project Insight, the unknown assassin known as the Winter Soldier, Nick Fury's death, the arrest of Agent Natasha Romanoff, Captain Steve Rogers, and an unknown person that was later identified as Sam Wilson. Finally, it talks about Steve Rogers' announcement to the rest of SHIELD, the Helicarriers' destruction, and then Natasha's data dump.

Tony spends hours reading through all of the articles, and then he switches to the SHIELD files. Nearly all of it's in code, but JARVIS cracks that instantly.

Also: despite the mountains of information that SHIELD has on Natasha, Steve, Bruce, Thor, and Tony himself, there's very little to do with a certain archer.

Odd.

"You're all up to date, sir." JARVIS says dryly.

"This all happened in… like… a weekend?"

"Yes, sir. And, if I may, I suspect that there's a lot more that has not been reported. I suggest you ask Ms. Romanoff about that when she was wakes up."

"Tell me when she does," Tony requests, but what he really wants to do is go back to his workshop and hit things with hammers and _make something, _do something productive. "Where's Rogers?"

The AI pauses. "I'm uncertain."

"Find out for me, please. Pepper?"

"Ms. Potts is still in L.A. She has just exited a meeting. L.A. time: 9:22 pm. Local time: 12:22 am." If an AI could be tired, or at least annoyed, that's JARVIS in this moment. "Her flight here lands tomorrow at 11:05 am."

"It's midnight?"

"Twenty-three after, sir. Good morning. It has been 22 hours since you last slept." JARVIS' voice hints at disapproval.

Tony ignores it. He's been awake for far longer. "I'm going to the workshop."

"Sir," JARVIS doesn't even hide his disapproval.

"Shut up."

* * *

_Stark could be HYDRA._

The thought doesn't even occur to Natasha until she wakes up the next morning.

_He designed the Helicarriers. That's what the file said, isn't it? And Nick. 'Stark, A, contributed generously to the design of the Helicarriers.'_

But despite the obvious evidence, Natasha doesn't believe it.

"JARVIS?" she tries, her voice shaky.

The AI buzzes to life. "Good morning, Ms. Romanoff. The time is 10:46 am. The outside temperature is 20 degrees Celsius and cloudy with a chance of rain."

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Twelve hours and seven minutes."

Natasha blinks; that's more than she had been expecting. More than she's slept in the past week.

She stands up, resigning herself to the shower. After, she promises herself, she'll go back to the real world. The courts are calling for her testimony. She left Rogers with Wilson, but she still needs to check on him. Clint needs to be warned. She tried her best to remove any data on him before the dump—to protect Laura and the kids—but she's nowhere close to perfect. But the world won't end in the twenty minutes that it takes to shower. Hopefully.

When she finishes, she rifles in her backpack for clothes. She has a few outfits there, but she'll have to go back to her apartment soon. Once she finds leggings and a huge shirt that she stole from Clint, she pulls it on and a small phone tumbles out of the bag.

She taps in the first number slowly.

"Who is this?" His voice is serious and angry.

"Clint," she smiles. "It's Nat."

"Are you okay?" The anger disappears, replaces itself with concern. "God, Nat, I heard about all of it… on the news… and Fury, he's dead… Where are you? Are you safe?"

"I'm fine, I'm at Stark Tower."

A pause. "Why?"

"It seemed convenient." Natasha pauses. "You heard about the data dump?"

"I did. _You _did that?"

"Yeah. I took out as much about you as I could, but—"

"Don't worry; we're fine at home. Nat, SHIELD was _Hydra?_" His voice, even over the phone, shakes incredulously.

"I can't explain everything over the phone. Clint, I'll drop by eventually, but I can't promise when. Stay safe."

A longer pause. "You're right. Okay. Okay. We will. Yeah. You're right."

"Bye," she says softly.

"See you."

The line clicks.

On a different phone, she dials a different number.

"Sam."

"Romanoff, that you?"

"Yep. How is he?"

She can hear his shrug. "Still sleeping. Vitals are stable. The docs say any minute now. Where're you?"

"Stark Tower." She hears him breathe in sharply. "Old friend. I'm safe."

"Oh. Got an update from Fury or Maria?"

"Not yet. That's all. Bye."

"Bye."

Short conversation. No real stories are exchanged, just two- or three-word sentences, for the most part.

"Where's Tony?" Natasha directs her voice to the ghost in the walls.

JARVIS answers smoothly. "I believe he is in the kitchen."

"Where's that?" Normally, Natasha would already have a map of this place on her head, but last night she was far too exhausted.

In response, JARVIS turns on the ceiling lights along a certain path. Natasha follows.

* * *

She finds him on his laptop, half-empty mug of coffee next to him. There are dark circles under his eyes and she wonders when he last slept, as well. He's obviously no engrossed in his work that he seems not to notice her walk in.

"Breakfast?" she asks. He obviously hasn't eaten yet.

"What?" he looks up sharply. "Oh, yeah, thanks."

She starts the coffee maker, cracks a few eggs, throws them into an omelette because that's one of the few things that she knows how to make. In the fridge, she finds a few apples—which _seem _like breakfast food— and cuts them into slices. "Did you sleep?"

"Yes?"

She fixes him with a stare—not a deadly Black Widow one, but a friendlier one. "How long?"

"Four hours."

"Okay." She doesn't sleep, either, not normally, and four hours would be considered a good night for her. And although that's not healthy… she doesn't really care enough. She gives him his omelette and half of the apples, too.

"Natasha, what happened?" Tony closes the computer and she sits down in front of him.

She sighed. "Shit," she answered honestly, meeting his eyes. "A whole lot of shit. SHIELD… and Hydra… and Fury… and Steve… and the Winter Soldier."

"Yeah, who is that guy? For real, though."

"That's complicated." Natasha hesitated again, then sighed again, rubbing her forehead. "He's an assassin on another level. He shows up very rarely-once every couple of years, but there are mass casualties when he does. He's Hydra, and I think that he was with the Red Room at some point a long time ago. He's dangerous. And he's Steve's brainwashed friend." There, she said it. She hadn't admitted it to herself yet, but she had met the Winter Soldier before, as a trainer. She knew that much.

Tony pauses. She can see his brain working, deciding on what questions to ask, sorting them by priority, but all he says is, "oh."

"Yeah." It's confusing. Even for her, and she probably knows more vis-a-vis this situation than almost anyone else. Most likely. Or maybe not at all. Something like that. "Yeah."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. No one does." A thought occurs to her and she bites her tongue. Zola showed her and Steve those images, and heavily, heavily implied that the Winter Soldier had killed Tony's parents. She files that information away for later-it would help no one to tell him now. "Steve says that Barnes pulled him from the river after the Helicarriers crashed. After Maria took them down."

"As in Hill? She was there?"

"Yeah, she was invaluable. She basically planned the whole takedown. I called her the other day, she's compiling a list of people who she knows are SHIELD. And not Hydra."

"And not Hydra," Tony repeats. "Have you heard from Barton?"

She knows what he's asking, and she's grateful for the response she can give. "Yeah, I have. He's good. He's safe."

"That's good to know," he answers, and Natasha detects genuine relief.

"Have _you _heard from Banner?"

Tony's eyebrows knit together. "Why? He's not SHIELD, and he's sure as hell not Hydra."

"The people tailing him might have been. And his last known location is now online, so."

"I'll call him," Tony promises. "Thor?"

"Off-world, as far as SHIELD knew." Since the Avengers Initiative and the Battle of New York, other SHIELD agents had assumed that Natasha had clearance to all of the files relating to other team members. She didn't, not formally, but someone would have told her if another high-profile alien was hanging out on earth.

"So what happens now?"

Natasha shakes her head softly. She doesn't have an answer. "I don't know. We find out who's on whose side. We try to stomp out whatever's left of Hydra."

"Who's we?"

"Whoever's left," she answers grimly. The food sits in front of her. Neither of them are eating.

"The Avengers initiative was meant to be a one-time thing," Tony says, but he isn't finished.

She nods, understanding what he's getting at, but unable to resist making a quip. "Actually, it was supposed to be a no-time thing."

He looks at her with searching eyes. "Natasha. Are the Avengers going to have to reform?"

Natasha avoids his gaze, and instead picks up a piece of apple. She turns it in her hand, inspects it, tries to avoid the answer she knows that she'll have to give him. "Yes," she replies quietly, giving in. "I think we will."

Tony sits back, and Natasha doesn't know what to expect. Is he going to refuse? Be frustrated?

Instead, he smiles widely. "Good. I didn't build personalized floors for all you for nothing."

"What?"

**Leave a review!**


	2. ii Post Disaster Coffee

**Hello, lovelies! It's me again! **

**So after a while, I decided to lengthen this from a one-shot to a three-shot, actually. Last chapter followed CA:TWS and the falling of SHIELD; this one follows CA:CW and the falling of the Avengers, and the next one will follow IW. Thanks for the lovely reviews last chapter, they make me so happy!**

**This one was slightly harder to write—it's easier to write physically weary characters who care about each other than it is to write emotionally compromised ones who don't really know where they are right now relative to the other. But I did my best, and I think that it's pretty okay!**

**Also I am aware that I switched tenses between these two chapters. Shh, it's okay. Pretend. **

**Enjoy!**

Natasha Romanoff stood on Tony Stark's personal floor at the Avengers Tower, in the living room, facing the window and the balcony doors, entirely, completely, and in every way alone. She was still in that moment, that split second after an explosion, figuring out what to do now. Wanted in one hundred and thirteen countries, with no idea as to the whereabouts of most of her team, she had no one.

Understandably, she hated it. Not because she couldn't survive, but because of what she had left behind. She had finally found her family, her people, her team, and she had made a few mistakes, and now they were gone.

And now she was here, for whatever it was worth, to make amends. Or as close as she could get. She couldn't stay here, she knew that, but she also couldn't leave. She waited for him in one of the many, many kitchens in the Tower, the one closest to his room. He entered, yawning, one hand rubbing sleep from his eyes, and he froze when he saw her.

Coming to his senses again, Tony crossed to the countertop. The coffee pot was on a timer from the moment he woke up, and so a steaming pot awaited him. "You want coffee?"

Natasha cringed. His voice was dark, unhappy, and she began to regret coming. Still, she soldiered on. "I'm good, thanks."

He plunked the coffee pot back on the counter with significantly more force than necessary. "Why are you here, Natasha? Did Rogers send you? He didn't have to. I already got his stupid letter."

"I'm not in contact with Rogers."

"Barton, then? Wilson? Maximoff?" Tony raised the mug to his lips and swallowed.

"No one," she pressed gently. It was the truth. Natasha was, for the first time since joining SHIELD, completely and utterly alone. It was not a great feeling.

"No one," he repeated, and for a second there his voice softened, just a little, and then it hardened again. "So why are you here? Hoping I'd bail you out of this mess?"

She stepped toward him. "No, of course not. I came to see if you were okay."

"If I was okay, ha." Tony scoffed. "I'm peachy, Romanoff—just fucking peachy." He scrubbed a hand across his face and then slammed it down on the countertop. She flinched. "Isn't it obvious? So go on back now, go back to your sketchy safe house or something with a clean conscience or whatever it is that passes for one in that sick head of yours."

Natasha winced again. She tried to respond, but she couldn't. He was absolutely right. She looked at the floor.

A moment passed. Tony rubbed his face again and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. That was mean."

She looked back up at him. "It's fine."

Another moment passed. "Police have shoot-to-kill orders on you," Tony reminded her, as if wasn't already aware. _And Wanda. And Barnes_. Though one of those, Tony didn't mind. But Wanda was really just a kid, and Natasha didn't deserve it, either. Rogers was still an American hero—or enough of one, anyway—and both Barton and Wilson were American citizens and had served their country in one way or another, so those three had ended up with "capture and take into custody by whatever means necessary". Still better than a kill order, though.

She exhaled, and Tony caught how exhausted that she seemed. "It's been a very long week."

"What are you going to do?" _What's your plan, long-term? There's a kill order on your head and you have friends scattered around the globe, most of whom need you in one way or another. _"Do you need cash?" He wasn't too keen to be bankrolling her again, but he could certainly afford it, and if she needed it…

Natasha shook her head. "I'll be okay—I have other sources of income." She didn't volunteer exactly what those sources were—or how legal they were—so he didn't pry. "As for what I'm going to do… I don't know. I…" she closed her eyes and shook her head again. "I don't know."

He walked over to her a put a single hand on her shoulder. He didn't hug her, didn't console her with false hopes and promises. He just put a hand on her shoulder.

When she was ready, she reopened her eyes. "I have a place, up north, in Canada. I'll make a cover when I get there, I think—find a normal job, maybe, wait for all of this to blow over."

"And if it doesn't?"

Natasha lifted a single shoulder. "Then it doesn't. Then I'll retire in Newfoundland and grow old catching fish and telling lies."

"No, you won't."

"I probably won't." They both shared a smile.

"You can stay here." The words were out of Tony's mouth before he could stop them, and Natasha's head was already shaking before she could formulate a response.

"I can't. Not with a shoot-on-sight order on my head in this country. Not with Clint and Steve and Wanda and Sam God-knows-where, waiting to be caught and tossed in the Raft again."

"They won't be," Tony promised. "I'll make sure of that."

"I know you'll try," Natasha allowed. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"For what?"

"For leaving you here by yourself. I know—"

"I'm not alone," he argued. "I have Pepper and Rhodey and Vision." The words felt as hollow as they were.

She decided to concede that. "I know. But, uh, I want you to know that you have me, too." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a second burner phone, almost the exact same as the one that Rogers had given him. "Here."

"Rogers already gave me one," he protested.

"Maybe." Natasha met his gaze. "With a condescending letter, my bet, and an 'If you need me, I'll be there" type scenario."

"You're good at this."

She smiled sadly. "It's my job. Anyway, this isn't that. This is, if you want me, I'll come. If you need someone to rant to—" she wiggled the phone. "I'll be there. You want to complain, you need to cry, _anything_ at all—I'm at the other end."

His fingers closed around the phone. "Thank you, Nat." His voice was sincere.

She smiled. "Anytime."

"So what are you going to do now?" Tony eased himself back behind the counter.

"I think I'm going to reach out to Clint and to the others," she answered. "And then I'll figure it out. Go north, like I said."

"That's good. You'll be safer with them." _Than you would be on your own. Than you would be if you stayed here. _"Tell—um, tell him and Wanda and Wilson—tell them I'm sorry." For the Raft, was implied but not said. Not Rogers, and not Barnes.

She nodded, her face unreadable. "You're a good person, Tony."

"So are you."

She let out a loose chuckle, and her eyes narrowed, compeletative. "No. Maybe… maybe I was. For a moment. Before." _Whatever we are now, whatever we do now— it's not like before. _

Tony understood that. He smiled remorsefully, and deliberately opened his arms. Natasha hesitated, but after a second of consideration, hugged him anyway.

"Do you want to stay the night?" he asked.

She considered that, too.

"I mean, your floor is under surveillance, but we have guest bedrooms. State of the art security, remember?"

"Thank you, Tony. I mean it. But…"

"I get it," he interrupted gently. "Can't stay in the same place for long, and can't stay here." Although he tried to mask it— and she appreciated that he did try— the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

Natasha's phone chimed and she glanced at it. "Shit," she muttered.

Tony was at her side in a flash. "What's wrong?"

"Police dispatch to this location. CIA's been called." Nat glanced up at him. "I need to get out of here. Tony, I can't... They _can't _catch me!"

"They won't. Do you need anything? Can I do anything? What do I do?"

Natasha chewed on her lip, "Stall?" she suggested, pulling a hood over her red hair. "Cause a distraction?"

"Like Iron Man flying over Park Street?" Tony grinned. He had done that before a couple of times, on a dare, and exactly seven car accidents had resulted, not to mention Clint owing him twenty bucks.

Natasha matched his smile, likely remembering the same thing. "Exactly like that."

When he returned, every trace of her was gone. Tony felt for the phone in his pocket, too, to ensure that it was still there and sighed in relief when it was.


	3. iii Post Disaster Pancakes

Tony woke late one morning, which was unusual. Parents of three year olds didn't wake up late. Ever. The bed was empty, too— Pepper was gone.

He checked Morgan's bedroom, which was empty.

He got down to the kitchen and saw Pepper, hair a mess, dressed in jeans and a pink top, stirring her coffee gently while she smiled outside the window. She turned when she heard him come down the stairs and her grin widened. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he repeated, kissing her forehead. God, he was so lucky to have her. "What have you done with my daughter?"

"Oh," Pepper replied teasingly. "She's been kidnapped."

"Has she now?" Tony joined Pepper out the window, where he saw a certain redhead lift his daughter into the air and swing her around.

"We're never getting her back."

"She's gone forever," Pepper faux-admitted, shaking her head.

"Mm." Tony put an arm around his wife and kissed her forehead again. "When did she get here?"

"Early," Pepper answered.

"Oh?"

"Very, very early. As in, sitting on our back porch before any of us woke up early."

"That is early. Also the most in-character thing I've ever heard. Did she say why? What's going on?"

"She wouldn't tell me. And she seems kind of out of it, I don't know. Something definitely happened. You should talk to her."

"I will," Tony promised, but he stayed exactly where he was. Natasha lunged at Morgan to tickle her, and she squealed with laughter. "Nat's good with her."

"Yeah," Pepper agreed softly. "She doesn't seem too good herself, though."

That was correct. Natasha's hair was unkempt, her eyes dark, and she looked tired.

Tony sighed.

In an attempt to pick up the mood, Pepper said, "Ask if she wants to stay for breakfast. It's Saturday, we can make pancakes."

"Oh, I don't deserve you," Tony replied instantly, not skipping a beat. There was something about Pepper's pancakes. She didn't make them often, maybe once a month, but when she did…

Pepper pressed a kiss to his hand, but her eyes remained on the window. "What's it been now? Twelve years?"

Tony hummed agreement. "Natalie Rushman from Legal. I still wonder how she passed the background check."

"Beat Happy up," Pepper recalled.

"Poor guy was so embarrassed. She's a conwoman."

"Mmm. What's she up to now?"

Tony thought about it. "I… uh, I don't know. Last I heard, she was at the compound with Rogers. I'll ask her."

Pepper agreed. They lapsed into silence for another moment. Tony didn't want the moment to end, but eventually Pepper tapped him twice on the chest. "Let's go."

Tony hummed in protest, but he knew that she was right.

When they got outside, Morgan left Natasha's side to launch herself into Tony's arms.

"Well, good morning, little miss," he greeted, pressing a kiss into Morgan's hairline.

"Hi, Daddy!"

"Have you been playing with Auntie Nat?"

"Ye-ah! She is the coolest."

Tony furrowed his brows in mock anger. "I thought I was the coolest?"

"Nah. It's Auntie Nat. Can she come over and play every day?"

Tony looked above his daughter's head, where Natasha had a smile pasted on. "We'll see, Morgina."

Pepper jumped in, rescuing Morgan from Tony's arms. "Let's go inside, sweetheart. Mama's making pancakes."

"Yay!"

With a meaningful glance at Tony, Pepper led their daughter away, leaving Tony alone with Natasha.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey," she replied gently.

"Morgan likes you."

Natasha smiled widely at the mention of his little girl and glanced over Tony's shoulder at the house. "I like her. You got a good kid, Tony. She's smart. Just like her dad."

"Nah, she gets that from her mom. I'm lucky to have both of them."

"Yeah."

Tony decided to bite the bullet, gently starting to walk into the forest. She followed. "What are you doing here, Nat? If you're going to ask me to come back—"

"I'm not asking you to come back—"

"Good, because that would be ridiculous." Tony exhaled. "Why are you here, Nat?"

"I thought I'd see Morgan. I haven't spent any time with her."

"Bullshit." Tony's eyes bored into her. "You don't show up at the crack of dawn for that. Come on, Nat," and his voice softened, "you don't have to lie. Not to me."

Natasha exhaled deeply. Her eyes flicked to the ground and then back to Tony, who patiently waited for a response. "I was lonely."

That's… unexpected. Tony blinked. "The rest of the team?"

"None of them live at the compound. It's just me. I was mad at Steve," she continued matter-of-factly, "and you were next closest."

"I was next closest?" Tony sounded mock-offended, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah," replied Natasha, cheekily playing along. "That's the only reason."

They walked a few moments in silence, and Tony saw the tension melt off her shoulders. Not completely, but she seemed lighter here, away from the compound.

"Why were you mad at Steve?" Tony asked, and immediately regretted it. Her face fell and she made a face.

"We had a disagreement. I'd rather not…"

"Okay," Tony agreed readily. "That's cool." He had a lot of questions—he hadn't even known that Steve was no longer at the compound—but he knew not to push her.

Natasha met his eyes and smiled a very small smile.

"You're staying for breakfast, right?" Tony confirmed.

She hesitated. "I've been gone a while—what if someone calls?"

"Then they can wait for however long it takes to eat pancakes. There. It's decided. You're staying."

"Tony…"

"It's not up to you. Fact of the matter. Sorry, I don't make the rules. Well, actually I do, but—"

"Tony," Natasha interrupted. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Anytime. Literally. Come over. I feel like I haven't seen you in years. Just maybe call ahead next time."

"No promises."

**And...the third imstalment is finally here! not gonna lie, I had it wirtten out long ago, and it was just editing that took awhile. this chapter was harder to write than the others, because I wasn't sure where the characters should be at, emotionally speaking. Still, I hope you're not disappoimted. Review and tell me what you think!**

**Lots of love,**

**aurea**


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